


Agent of Chaos

by Dracoravebird



Series: The Things that are Hidden [2]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, LOVECRAFT H. P. - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description, Kink, Master/Servant, Multi, NSFW, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Shapeshifting, Tentacles, Violence, Xenophilia, too lazy to list all kinks so check chapter descriptions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-02-08 04:25:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12856701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoravebird/pseuds/Dracoravebird
Summary: There are many proverbs that could fit Ryan's situation, honestly. Bit off more than he could chew... In over his head... So on, and so forth.But nothing could have prepared him for the job-description of his time under his new employer, which he had exchanged for Asylum from Humanity.





	1. A Curious Stranger

It was not often that Dr. Armitage saw and recalled the face of a new student, but from the second he had met the younger man – whom had ascended the steps of the front door, Armitage was instantly struck not only by his appearance, but by his… aura, for lack of a better term.

“Good morning.” The younger man greeted, a certain keenness visible in his hazel green eyes. “Can you tell me which wing World Civ. is in?”

“Certainly.” Armitage nodded, the plump but amiable librarian turned, pointing. “East wing. Room 303. But you’re half an hour early?”

“My clock is fast, I guess.” He sighed, and offered a hand to shake. “I’m Ryan. Ryan MacReady.”

“And new, from the sound of it.” He chuckled, and shook the lad’s hand. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard that accent, too. Kingsport?”

“Born and raised, sir.” Ryan nodded, proudly sporting his half-city-half-country sort of intonation.

“I’m Henry Armitage. I’m the head librarian here.”

“Glad to meet you. … I suppose I’ll head to class, then. Best part about being early is getting a good seat.”

He forced a chuckle and a nod, and watched the younger man ascend further to the front doors. Armitage was uncertain what, but he could feel something off about the younger man. He did not look completely remarkable, but even so, his image stuck in the librarian’s mind, and repeatedly struck him as odd.

Ryan was on the shorter side, only standing around five-foot-eight, with a slender figure and a juvenile-looking face. His light brown hair was clean but unkempt, and his face bore no hair to speak of besides thin, almost elegant brows. The lad’s clothes were baggy on his lean form, consisting of a long-sleeved shirt beneath a larger t-shirt, and a pair of faded jeans with holes in the knees, sneakers upon his feet.

Then again, Armitage figured it was not SO strange. Miskatonic University had many odd folk, especially in the surrounding towns. He did not look like he was from Dunwich, nor from Innsmouth, as both those regions were plagued with deformities and genetic hiccups. This lad, dare he say, looked like a Greek statue of a beardless youth, his pale but freckled skin even resembling marble in the right light. Perhaps Kingsport was less prone to them than he would guess, despite its location.

What stuck fastest in Armitage’s mind, however, was not simply his androgynous appearance. When the lad walked past him to head inside, he was hit with an aroma or odor akin to wilted flowers. Near ethereal, with its edge tinged in a quiet but nameless decay that would be imperceptible to those without significant experience growing roses. A kind of smell the flowers would have after a hard frost killed all their blossoms. Not bad, but peculiar. Enough for him to bother remembering.

He did not see the lad in person again until a couple weeks later, after Morgan and Rice discussed Ryan’s intelligence with Armitage. The newest student showed an aptitude, a gift, for literature and history, though lacking in mathematics and, according to the professor of U. S. History, showed a certain amount of disgust for the subject, though he performed well enough. His inclinations seemed to point towards the sands of Egypt, cold northerly lands of Europe, or the rolling hills of Greece instead.

Ryan was humming to himself as he strode into the library.

“Oh. Ryan, my lad! I expected to see you in here sooner.” Armitage said, adjusting his spectacles.

“Sorry about that. I’ve been busy.” He answered with a sheepish smile.

“Well, what are you looking for?”

“A book or two about the Roman emperors.”

“Well, you should find something over there in the non-fiction. We have a specific section for that.”

“Thanks.” Ryan turned to walk off, only to pause when he noted the strange, locked door at the head of a staircase, kept firmly shut with both keypad and even a padlock. “Professor Armitage, what’s that?”

“That’s the reliquary, where we keep the older and more valuable books.”

“Oh. Alright, then.”

Ryan strode past him to the nonfiction historicals. As he perused the numerous volumes, he spared the professor a glance. He was an older gent, past middle-aged but not necessarily elderly. Tall, and husky, with greying hair, a roman nose, and flabby cheeks. He was garbed in a suit, of course, and much of his time was spent re-shelving books and cataloguing.

Personally, Ryan wasn’t certain why a man with several degrees in mythology and the occult was in charge of the library. It made the student suspicious. A professor of Armitage’s caliber – enough that a young man from Kingsport knew his damn name – being in charge of a library meant that this man had either done something worth demotion, or he was there to keep an eye on something. He doubted the former, as the scandle would’ve made the news even in his hometown, and that meant that Armitage was there to keep an eye on something. Possibly that locked section.

It was enough to make him curious. Just curious enough.

\---------

It was only natural he was curious of the room and, late at night while he was unable to sleep or focus on his studies, he decided to take his pair of lockpicks into the library and venture down into this mysterious room.

Picking the lock was surprisingly easy, albeit noisy. Through the entire short process – though it felt long to him – he was occasionally glancing and peering over his shoulders warily. The university was old and did not sport cameras, but he knew there were plenty of nightguards on patrol. Breaking into the library’s restricted section meant he would likely be reprimanded heavily, perhaps even expelled. In his mind, perhaps, the risk was worth it. Even as a child, Ryan had a difficult time curbing his almost impulsive inquisitiveness, but in his opinion, all humans were impulsive about SOMETHING. He was just impulsive about wanting to explore and know things.

Cracking a glowstick, he peered about, carefully making his way downstairs. He was met by the smell of aged books, old parchment, smoke, and the citric smell of old papyrus. It was no surprise that he saw several shelves of numerous volumes. Most looked too old to pick up, but one caught his eye. It was in a locked display case, slanted like an old-time desk.

Chewing his lower lip, Ryan moved closer to it. Picking the lock on this case was easier than the door had been, allowing him to push it open… and examine the strange volume.  
Its leather binding over the hardback covers was cracked and dry with age, emblazoned with gold print or etchings. The pages were yellowed and crinkly. Parchment, from the texture. While the words did not make sense at first, or were not legible, they soon began to clear up. The author’s name was… someone named Al-Azif. That explained the choice of art on the cover – no images of plants or animals. Only geometric patterns.

“Fascinating…” Ryan mouthed silently, and stole a glance at the stairs.

Undiscovered, he held the glowstick in his mouth, and flipped through the pages, trying to find the most interesting piece he could. Between every few pages were intricate diagrams and symbols, as well as drawings of alien or otherworldly beings. Many of the quotations were frantic and made no sense even in English.

[Must be a fiction novel from god knows when.] Ryan thought, eyes darting over the pages. [I’m surprised a book like this survived all this time.]

There was nothing useful. He let out a disappointed sigh, quietly closing the book and putting it away again. With luck, the librarians would simply think they forgot to lock up. Much to Ryan’s relief, he was able to slip out of the building unnoticed. It would take him several more trips down to the reliquary to find anything truly worth his time. That, and his Latin was spotty, at best. Unless he had someone translate, he wouldn’t be able to get an entire read.

\---------

The week following sucked. Out loud. Odd dreams, a couple headaches, not a lot of wholesome sleep. His grades didn’t suffer much, besides because of the curve – honestly speaking, it pissed him off that another person’s slacking detrimental his hard work.

Ryan made his way home, riding his mountain-bike down the dark streets along the sidewalk since few people were out and about at this hour. His apartment was small, and not far from the university. Even so, it was far enough from it that he was distracted by a pair of open doors. Blue-painted metal doors, faded and flaked with rust, that were normally kept shut but were now propped open with stones from the waterfront. There was quite a crowd gathered within, listening to someone giving an enthusiastic lecture.

Curious, and not tired enough to head straight home, Ryan moved closer, dismounting and leaving his bike outside before entering the room. A man stood at a pedestal wearing a black suit with a dark purple vest, and matching pocket kerchief. For a moment, Ryan felt… dizzy, or faint. The man’s words were a haze in his mind, and while he felt like he registered them – and felt enthralled by them – he was uncertain mere split seconds after just what he had heard or what he now felt so strongly about.

He did not know how long he stood there. But when he snapped out of it, everyone around him… collapsed to the floor. Some seemed to be having convulsions. Some were unconscious, or dead. One managed to run away, screaming, with her hands clasped over her ears. Ryan gasped in shock, taking a step back. His back hit what felt like someone’s chest.

“Well, now… Last man standing.” The voice was a smooth, almost silky baritone and had some foreign accent he could not place.

The student whipped around to face the stranger. Ryan ended up having to crane his head upwards to meet the other’s gaze. The man’s features were very fine. Slightly slant almond eyes, a chiseled Roman nose, dark olive skin, and pouty lips. His hair was black, shaved on the sides and slicked back on top, with a short and trim goatee upon his chin. Mismatched eyes, the right blue and left green, peered down at him with an unnatural keenness that made his skin crawl, the difference as pronounced as the difference between emeralds and sapphires. Ryan had not noticed the features before, and just now realizing what this man looked like instead of previously had him uneasy.

“You should go home. You don’t want to be here when police show up. Do you?”

He backed up a step before turning and walking as fast as he could without breaking into a jog, earning a chuckle from the strange man.

\---------


	2. The Presentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First impressions are very important, it seems.

Three days passed, after that. While Ryan attempted to forget what had just happened, he could not. It lingered on his mind almost constantly, even in his dreams. Until the fourth night.

He saw… flashes, in his dreams. Flashes of the symbols on the Necronomicon. Of missing pages flying on the wind, and of hazy figures gathered around a great table. In a single moment, he seemed to blink, and he went from simply dreaming to LUCID dreaming. Ryan peered about, the darkness clearing up like a fog to reveal his apartment, though colorless instead of real.

“Dafuq?” Ryan looked around.

“You have a… lovely home. Though, quaint.”

That voice. He recognized that voice. Ryan turned sharply, and saw the man from three days ago standing in the space between kitchen and living room. He held his jacket to rest over one shoulder, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, the thumb of his other hand resting in his beltloop. He was smiling, only his smile seemed to wide, and his canines too pronounced. Cartoonish, in a way, or stretched.

“It’s all I can afford. And what…? How…?” Ryan glanced around, before focusing his gaze up at the stranger.

“You read the book. I would think you would’ve learned something.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me. I can see it. A darkness in the corner of your eye, where you think you see something.” The figure smirked, half sincere and half smarmy. “Look closer at me. What do you see?”

Reluctantly, he peered into the stranger’s eyes. A dull throb of pain echoed through his sinuses, but he indeed saw it in his mind’s eye. Sands, and great Ziggurats that eroded and were replaced with pyramids. He heard ancient pipe music, and could see a figure in a floor-length wrap of black, with a purple shendyt, and golden jewelry fitting the time and country. The name started off as a whisper, but when Ryan forced his mind to slow down, he made out the syllables.

“Nyarlathotep…”

“Very good. And here Carter thought he was the only dreamer.” The figure chuckled, and then frowned. “There’s something different about you. Tell me about yourself.”

“Why?” Ryan question, shaking his head in the hopes of clearing the fog away.

“Because I commanded it. Why else?”

Leering at him, Ryan took a step back, and turned to leave. He yelped as he ran headlong into the stranger’s chest, followed by a hand wrapping around his throat and bending him backwards as the figure leaned over him, a little growl of annoyance passing Nyarlathotep’s mouth in a seer.

“Don’t be coy, now. I’ll have my answer, one way or another.”

A shudder coursed through him, but he relented. “My name’s Ryan MacReady. I… I come from Kingsport. Recently enrolled at Miscatonic University. No one special.”

Nyarlathotep seemed to consider and dropped him. A mere wave of his hand suddenly transformed the apartment into an open space of bridges and passageways beneath an abysmal sky, in which numerous islands, mountains, and landmasses floated. There was a palace of some kind in the distance, made up of pyramids of many kinds – Egyptian, Aztec, Cambodian – with the main portion of it being a ziggurat.

When Ryan peered to Nyarlathotep, he saw the taller being’s attire had changed entirely. Black, floor-length wrap and indigo-purple shendyt with a large amount of ancient Egyptian jewelry of gold and precious gems. A decadent amount. Collar, necklace, body-chains, arm bands, bangles, rings… He had a long staff of gold in hand, but not with an ankh. Rather, it was… Yes, that was Nyarlathotep’s personal symbol at the top, the end pointing to the ground being a spear. The Crawling Chaos walked down one of the paths, and after a few seconds, Ryan followed, jogging to catch up with him.

“What is going on? And why are you in my head?” Ryan questioned.

“I’m not in your head.” Nyarlathotep supplied with a scoff. “If I was, you’d be insane, or deceased.”

“Okay… What about my first question?”

“You might say I’m a collector. I like unique things. And I’ve found myself desiring a… servitor, if you will.”

“What, like a personal assistant?”

“Something like that.”

“And what would that involve? I’m a full-time student. I can’t just—”

With no warning, Nyarlathotep halted and whirled on his heel, making the young man run into him a second time. “Asking too many questions will get results worse than death, boy.”

Ryan swallowed thickly.

“You have a simple choice. Become my servant, in exchange for… asylum, from humanity. Refuse, and become a tool unaware of what it does.”

“That’s not much of a choice.”

“It is. I gave you two options. So pick one.”

Ryan thought a moment. “One request.”

“Choose it wisely.” Nyarlathotep growled, growing impatient.

“Define ‘asylum from humanity.’”

He blinked down at the man, and then cackled. “I let you have one request and you use it on that?! Hah! People usually ask for riches, or knowledge!”

“I don’t need those if the definition in my mind is the right one.”

The laughter stopped abruptly, followed by Nyarlathotep gazing down at him. This one was not a normal human. Most would be screaming, crying, begging, or praying by now, and not necessarily in that order. One man had even flung himself off the bridge into the yawning abyss all around them. It only furthered his suspicions.

“Asylum from humanity is exactly what it sounds like. I will grant you a blessing. You will be free of sickness, age, and if I see fit, death. You will not need money, nor material goods besides sustenance. That is an incredible power for your kind, is it not?”

“There’s a catch.”

“Of course there is. As my servant, you heed my will and decrees. You will give me your time, your attention, and when I so wish it, your body. Yes, that’s a sexual euphemism.”  
Ryan’s brows furrowed.

“What say you?” Nyarlathotep extended his hand, knowing the answer already.

He shook it. “Sign me up.”

Ryan awoke with a muffled scream, gasping for breath as sparks skittered up his arm, prickling along his skin like daggers. To his shock, a hand pushed him backwards to lay on his couch, where he had fallen asleep. When his vision cleared and he gazed up, he saw Nyarlathotep standing over him.

“Get your bearings first, twit.”

He took a deep breath, a shudder racing through him. “What… What’s going on?”

“You’re going to make yourself presentable. We have a meeting to go to.”

“Gods have meetings?”

“When it concerns matters like this, yes. Now go bathe and change your clothes. You reek of Dr. Pepper.”

\---------

A haze swept in over Ryan’s mind as he rode in the car with his new “master.” Part of him was surprised an Outer God would know how to drive a car, but perhaps it was to help blend in. Or, maybe he enjoyed it. All Ryan was really aware of was that it felt like a long drive, and he felt sick. He had a headache, and he felt queasy. When the car suddenly stopped, he gagged, feeling the seatbelt hug around his middle.

“We’re here.” Nyarlathotep announced gruffly. “Follow me and don’t touch anything.”

With a weak nod, Ryan forced himself to follow. The building before them looked like an abandoned church, deteriorated with rust and wood-rot. As soon as they passed through the doors, Ryan was met with a strange odor he could not place. A combination of the building’s aged stench, and something ethereal that was not good or bad. A crisp sort of something, like ozone, or the ground fresh after a lightning strike.

Past the foyer stood a main hall where a great dining table had been set, along with several chairs. This dining area was situated at the back of the room, leaving an open space which all the chairs faced. It felt like a court, or a room of judgement. Apparently, he and Nyarlathotep were late to the party. Others were there. After a few dull throbs through his skull, Ryan registered their true names, and knew them for what they were rather than the human guises he saw.

Yog-Sothoth’s disguise looked like an older gentleman, husky but strong in build, and of a slightly squat stature so as to match Ryan in height. His hair was salt-n-pepper black, a wiry goatee visible on his chin. He wore a tailored Italian suit that was a dark, purplish-grey in color, contrasting the black hue of his gold-buttoned vest, and the pallid hue of his skin. One eye bore a pronounced cataract, and the other eye bore a monocle. Beside him was a blonde, spectacled man whom looked to be in his thirties, with sallow skin and keen blue eyes. He was garbed in work attire – a button-up shirt, slacks, and a jacket.

The mad god Azathoth was less subtle in her disguise. She sat on the table, the knees of her crisscrossed legs bent up with her elbows resting on them. Her flesh was quite pale with dark makeup and raven hair, the bangs of which were dyed bright pink. Copper-colored eyes were glazed and unseeing, staring into plank space. Her attire would make any wannabe Goth green with envy. Beside her was a man in casual attire. Jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket. Brown hair, olive skin, and dark eyes that were bloodshot from lack of sleep.  
Shub-Niggurath was the last in attendance, as it was these four whom held the most authority. How Ryan knew that, he had no idea. She had the guise of a curvaceous and beautiful young woman, her mocha skin bearing patches of vitiligo, and her hair pulled back into braided rows. She was garbed in a knee-length sundress, a cropped jacket, and knee-high boots while her companion – a man from the build – wore the hood of his jacket up and had his hands in his pockets.

“So. You took a servant.” Yog-Sothoth observed, expression blank. “Unexpected…”

The man beside Azathoth whispered something to her. Azathoth tensed up and bolted to her feet. “Kill him. Now.”

“Calm down, sultan.”

Ryan yelped as Nyarlathotep suddenly jerked him closer and pushed the slighter behind him. “He’s mine. And it is my decree he serve me. The contract was made. It’s binding.”

“Even so, it’s a risk.” Shub-Niggurath said sharply. “We saw what happened last time.”

The room erupted into an intense argument in an incomprehensible language. Ryan winced, and then sank to his knees, clasping his hands over his ears. The blonde man briskly moved to him and got him to his feet, guiding him into another room and closing the door behind them. Ryan was dazed, mind out of it for a good few moments as a few drops of blood trailed from his nose across his lips, to drip off his chin.

“Can you hear me?” The older man questioned, pulling a kerchief from his pocket and wiping the student’s nose. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

A gentle pat on his cheek snapped Ryan out of it and he wheezed, stomach turning just as a fresh pain ran through his skull. “W-What just happened?”

“Your first test as a servant to an Outer God.” The taller answered, sitting him down on an old wooden chair. “You didn’t pass out, which is good. Most people can’t stand one voice, much less five.”

“Am I supposed to be nauseous?”

“That can happen, yes. Depending on how your master chose to do things. Do you have an open wound?”

“On my arm where we shook hands. But it’s nothing big. It looks like a scratch.”

“Yes. They usually do. You’ll notice more changes, later, but remember that whatever happens, it’s probably normal. Or, what passes for normal. … What’s your name?”

“Ryan MacReady. You?”

“Ethan Carter. The others you saw were Abdul Alhazred with Azathoth, and Shub-Niggurath’s servant has no name. That we know of, anyhow. … Just wait here and regain your bearings. We don’t need you feinting right now.”

\---------

Ryan did not find out what the Outer Gods had argued about, and did not ask. If their voices were enough to nearly make his head explode, then he had no desire to learn just what was discussed behind closed doors.

Nyarlathotep took him to a secluded location. It looked like an old Victorian-style mansion, made up of brick with hardwood floors and recent renovation, huge in size. His things were “magically” transported there and Nyarlathotep made it very clear he would be living there for his master’s convenience. Master. It was a weird word, but Carter had assured him that he’d get used to it.

He was not so certain he would get used to THIS, however. On weak legs, he strode into the living room. It was empty, much to his chagrin. At the very least, he had expected to see Nylarlathotep occupying himself with the countless books. Lounging on the couch. Listening to the phonograph, or watching television. Something.

“Do you need something?”

Ryan nearly screamed, jumping violently. Turning, he glared up at the Crawling Chaos. “Yeah. I wanna know what you put in my stomach.”

“Oh, just a little insurance policy, and my end of the deal.” Nyarlathotep prowled around him, dragging a finger across the flat of the student’s lower belly.

A ragged gasp escaped him when he felt the thing MOVE. It was like… like an octopus with too many legs and little feelers slithering under his skin in some kind of hidden place in his body that didn’t exist before.

“As long as you remain useful and obedient to me, this will keep you alive and young, regardless of what happens to your body. I could cut you open right now and it would do nothing. Well, nothing besides cause immense pain.”

Ryan shivered, mixed feelings making a confuzzled look cross his face as lukewarm hands came to rest on his hips.

“Take it as you like. But should I decide to dispose of you, you’ll find out what my ‘blessing’ is really capable of. Am I understood, mortal?”

“Yeah. I… I get it.” He swallowed thickly. “Can you tell me what else it does?”

Nyarlathotep slid away from him, moving to the sofa in long, smooth strides and seating himself. Long legs came up to rest on the ottoman, ankles crossed.

“Is that a no?”

“After a while, once you grow accustomed to it, I’ll be able to communicate my desires to you through it at distance. Good luck keeping up.”

Ryan blanched.

“Now, go find something to do. I have no use for you right now. If anything, you should try to rest, seeing you mortals have weaker constitutions.”

“Right… I’ll do that.” He muttered, shuffling back to the room he had woke up in.

All Nyarlathotep could do was smirk.

\---------


	3. Submission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: It occurred to me that an Outer God, being as old and powerful as they are, would likely have full control of their faculties even during sex. So, I changed some things around. Tentacle sex will be in a later chapter. -_-‘ 
> 
> This chapter has SEX!!! 18+ readers only, please. WARNING: Breathplay can be dangerous and even deadly if done incorrectly and/or someone you can't trust with your life. Discretion advised.
> 
> Contains loss of virginity, breathplay, consensual roughness, servitude, BDSM, xenophilia, shapeshifting, aftercare, etc...

It took another week for the flulike feeling to leave. Even so, Ryan couldn’t get used to that odd sensation of having some living symbiote parasite THING inside him.

He tried to focus on other things, but by the end of that week, Ryan realized there was no point in going to school. Anytime he opened his wallet, money could be found inside. Money that he didn’t have before. He remembered Nyarlathotep’s words about not requiring anything, and he realized that in giving his obedience, his continued existence was guaranteed. It was… strangely liberating, and it was a tangible, very real thing.

Ryan explored the city, walking about and going to restaurants he had only salivated at the idea of before. Went to the museum, got a new Xbox and several games. Got some new clothes, too. He enjoyed himself. Explicitly so. When he returned back, Nyarlathotep was in the study, reading some cumbersome book in a language that Ryan could scarcely fathom or even remotely recognize.

“Enjoy yourself, today?” Nyarlathotep smirked.

He arched a brow at the question, and strode closer. “Uh… yeah. I did. Why?”

“You’ll find I can sense a lot of things through my blessing.” He replaced the ribbon bookmark and closed the tome before turning in his plush office chair to face him. “It amazes me what people enjoy.”

He felt the thing in his stomach shudder.

“Come here.”

“Um… Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Ryan gasped when he felt his symbiote shift suddenly in his gut, causing a bolt of purely sexual pleasure to course through him. Slowly, legs feeling weak, he stepped closer, and yelped when the taller being pulled him down to straddle his lap, one slender hand resting on his backside. He made a curious face, watching the taller man take his wrist in hand, and lift the servant’s hand to his cheek.

“I get the feeling that reveling with you will be… most entertaining.” A trilling purr left the taller, whom turned and placed a surprisingly soft kiss on Ryan’s wrist.

“When you say ‘revel,’ you mean sex, don’t you.” Ryan realized aloud.

“That’s your kind’s word for it, yes. We reproduce in a different fashion, so sex is purely for enjoyment. For stress relief.” Fingers slid up under the slighter’s shirt, making Ryan shiver. “Mm. You’re a virgin.”

“I… Yeah. I’ve never really had the—Eep!” He yelped as he was suddenly picked up, the slighter man flailing and wrapping his limbs around his master’s body. “The time.”

“I want to make something very clear to you, pet.” There came the creak of floorboards underfoot, the patch of floor near the bedroom being rather old and squeaky.

The slighter listened intently as he was set down on the bed with surprising care.

“I’m the only being you submit to.” Nyarlathotep growled. “You will not fuck or be fucked by anyone or anything but me. Am I understood?”

“Yes.” Ryan said without hesitation, shuddering as the possessive tone sent a strange thrill through him. “Yes, I understand… master.”

A deep, rumbling purr sounded as he used the title for the first time. Soft hands, cool like wet sand but smooth and soft, pulled the slighter’s clothes off without preamble, but it fit. Ryan didn’t expect much foreplay from a person such as this. A little gasp parted his lips when he watched manicured nails darken and extend into claws, and felt said claws drag down his sides, careful enough not to draw blood, but rough enough to leave welts along his skin.

He allowed it when those hands pushed his legs up and apart.

“Hold your legs here for me.”

Blushing hard enough to feel his cheeks grow hot, he did so, resting his hands in the backs of his knees and waiting as his master moved about the room. There was a pinching sensation at the base of his cock from the symbiotic creature inside him, making him choke out a strained whine at the feeling of his erection flagging. Still, he didn’t comment, nor hear any comment when Nyarlathotep returned to him.

“Hold still.”

Ryan gasped when something cold touched him. Only when his master’s fingers really set to work did he get a look at what it was, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from protesting. It was a chastity cage. He let out a grunt when he felt the ring slide around the base of his member and sack, followed by the rest of it. He only knew it was over when he heard the click of a small padlock closing. When his master’s hands pulled away, he saw the cage, secure around himself, and the padlock bore a rune of his master’s symbol. Apparently, the rules included his hands in the list of “not allowed.”

Just when Ryan almost set his legs down, he heard a growl, and quickly reassumed his previous position, holding himself open and bare to this creature. Cool hands slid down his thighs, quietly admiring smooth and strangely hairless skin. Ryan’s eyes fell half-closed, his gaze falling to his own chest.

“Most people would be protesting by now.” Nyarlathotep mused, almost to himself. “Going on about how they never agreed to ‘whore themselves out’ to me.”

“I agreed to it.” Ryan reminded him. “I’ll get used to it.”

“Mm. I sense something more than that.” Those hands slid up his thighs, over his hips, and came to rest over his lower belly. “Never having time aside… you chose to stay a virgin because you believed no one would understand you.”

“You… You can sense that?”

“Mortal movies and ideas aside, it’s very easy for us to read mortal thoughts once we bless them.” He traced a finger around Ryan’s navel.

The slighter have an open-mouthed whine as he watched something flutter beneath the skin, stretching up and outwards to follow the motions of the pharaoh’s finger. It looked and felt bizarre, but that didn’t stop warmth from coiling in the pit of his stomach.

“You find this arousing? Curious… Why?” Nyarlathotep tilted his head.

“I-I don’t know.” Ryan shuddered, toes curling. “I’ve just… always gravitated towards… towards porn like that.”

“Porn?”

“Like a movie, but it’s about sex.”

“Mm.” He pushed the slighter’s hands away. “Like what?”

The blush on his cheeks darkened.

“I want to hear you say it, Ryan.” Nyarlathotep’s voice turned silky and honeyed. Seductive.

“Like… Like BDSM. Chastity. Someone being in control over someone else.”

“And wishing it were you?”

He didn’t dignify that with a verbal answer, however true it was.

“Well, now,” the Crawling Chaos chuckled, “perhaps this will end up being something of a symbiotic relationship, then.”

Ryan shivered. “Master, it’s my… Just please… be gentle?”

A hand then took hold of Ryan’s cheeks, squeezing his face and making him gaze up at the pharaoh. “Since you’ve been so well-behaved, I’ll have you in this mortal form, tonight. We can revel in my other forms, later. When you’re more… well-adjusted.”

Meekly, he nodded, wincing at the ache in his cock the idea inspired. Ryan watched as Nyarlathotep stepped back, beginning to remove his clothes.

“Turn over on your front, and place a pillow under your hips.”

Without protest, Ryan obeyed and turned over, doing as he was told. He couldn’t bear to gaze over his shoulder. Rather, he simply listened to the rustle of clothes, and the sound of material hitting the floor. It was all followed by a dip in the mattress, and the feeling of the taller being straddling the backs of his thighs. A hand shoved a pillow down towards Ryan, and as if on instinct, the slighter man hugged the pillow to his chest, holding onto it as if it would anchor him in what was about to happen.

“What a pretty picture you make…” Nyarlathotep dragged a single claw down the young man’s spine. “The anticipation is killing you, isn’t it.”

He whined.

“How does it feel, knowing you’ve become the plaything of a god? That I’m about to consecrate your role as my chattel?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

A hand wrapped around the back of his neck and squeezed hard enough to put some pressure on his windpipe. “Don’t. Lie. To me. How does it feel?”

Ryan wanted to protest. All he mustered was a whimper. A weak, quiet little whimper as he arched his backside up against his master’s crotch.

“That’s what I thought.” Nyarlathotep released his neck and instead grabbed his head, pushing down hard so his cheek met the pillow, half-buried in its mass. “Never lie to me again. Understand?”

“Y-Yes! Yes… I...” He trailed off, shivering.

The slighter could feel his master’s cock pressing against his backside. Hard and thick – between height and shapeshifting, it was no surprise the Crawling Chaos would be hung – but deceptively cool in temperature, like his hands. Toned, strong thighs framed Ryan’s softer ones, and the feeling of hands bracing on his shoulders made Ryan shudder. There was no denying some part of this was making him feel ecstatic. The ache from his caged member only increased, his length trying to harden, only to go back down at the restraint. The ache mingled with the warmth coiling in his stomach, his entire pelvis throbbing dully. He could feel his cock drooling, precum pooling on the bedding beneath him.

“Now…”

Ryan hissed through his teeth as cold lube dribbled onto his skin, the pale pink flesh of his pucker flexing at the sensation. It was followed by the sound of slick motions, presumably lube being applied to other areas and the rustle of a hand-towel. It was confirmed when he felt hands part him and an intimidatingly-sized length hotdogging his backside. Quietly, he peered over his shoulder. Nyarlathotep’s body was as handsome as the rest of him. Not too muscled nor too slender, with dusky olive skin. The Crawling Chaos smirked deviously at him, fangs glinting in the moonlight that managed to snake between the blinds.

“I’m going to ruin you. But first,” his fingers tightened enough to leave bruises in the flesh of the human’s hips, “ask me for the privilege of being used.”

His request made Ryan sputter briefly and shiver. The surge of arousal that accompanied it made the symbiote-parasite-thing twist up in his belly and shudder.

“Don’t make me tell you again.” Nyarlathotep growled.

“P-Please, I…” He licked his lips and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. Just please… please use me…?”

With a snarl, he grabbed the human by the neck and again pressed him hard against the bed. “Like you mean it, mortal. Like you’re begging me. Like you’re PRAYING to me.”

“Please!” Ryan rasped, unable to help how he arched his backside upwards. “I-I’ve never done this before! Just please…! Please fuck me! Please use me! I don’t care what! Just do something!”

Nyarlathotep growled, part teasing, part annoted. “We’ll have to work on that.”

Before he could protest, he felt his master’s hard cock press against him, nudging his virgin entrance. He was given no warning. No time to brace himself. A cry ripped free of his throat when his master suddenly plunged forward, to the hilt, in one smooth motion. The stretch stung, just on the edge of what he could handle, but something told Ryan it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could be. An entrance like that should’ve made him bleed. Should’ve made him scream. Instead, all he mustered was a wheeze, the Blessing twisting and curling in his stomach as his inner walls clenched and fluttered. It took Ryan several moments to realize he had actually cum. A broken moan welled up in his chest, his eyes watering as he hiked his ass up a bit higher, at a better angle.

“You enjoyed that…” Nyarlathotep realized aloud in a breathy voice, feeling it through the link his blessing was still creating between them as he continued thrusting. “Ngh… Damn the limitations of this form…”

Ryan was unable to muster a reply as his master pulled back and plunged forward again with a roll of his hips. It was hitting a sensitive space inside him – his prostate, he distantly realized – without much effort, maybe due to the pharaoh’s size. His knuckles went white as he gripped the sheets. At first, one of the Crawling Chaos’ hands pressed into his back, pressing him down into the bed with his human form’s full weight. It made Ryan rasp and struggle to get a good breath in, but it only further stoked the fire in his veins, which was steadily climbing higher and higher. The force of his master’s thrusts made his hips pop and his ass ache as if spanked.

The Outer God above him hissed and grabbed hold of his throat again, the pressure moving from chest to neck. Little muffled whimpers left the servant, feeling that imposing member force him open and stretch him wide, plunging what felt like impossibly deep. For a flickering second, Ryan felt sick to his stomach, but a flutter of the Blessing eased the sensation. It was like his brain was being rewired… or melted down.

A yelp and a gasp parted his lips as he was suddenly jerked upright to stand on his knees. He felt an arm wrap around him, that hand now on the front of his neck and squeezing down hard so he felt every breath as it rushed through him and heard his heartbeat in his ears. Its partner rested on his thigh, claws leaving angry lines of rose on porcelain skin. The quick, deep, and punishing rhythm never stopped, not once, hard enough to take him up off the mattress with each shove.

“You should feel honored…” Nyarlathotep growled in his ear, words between thrusts. “It’s been thousands… of years since I’ve… ngh… claimed someone like this.”

Gasping for breath and finding it still restricted to some degree, he brought his shaking hands to those of the pharaoh, nails digging into Nyarlathotep’s wrists. Even so, he could sense Ryan was weeping with confused pleasure, as if this entire affair was one continuous orgasm. Honored? That wasn’t what he felt, but it was close enough.

“You will not scratch me.” He tightened his grip on his servant’s throat, cutting off his air entirely. 

Ryan winced, but his body was on autopilot, digging his nails in harder. His vision darkened at the edges. His passage clenched down on his master’s cock, droplets of white painting across his own thighs as he released a second time.

“I’ll need to explore that, next time.” Nyarlathotep huffed. “As well as punish you.”

His air was allowed again, but still restricted. Ryan struggled to time his breaths with the Crawling Chaos’ movements, a soft moan coloring each pant.

“Lower your hands. Now.”

Just barely, he managed to force his hands down, arms hanging limply in front of him as he was used like a glorified fleshlight. There was no denying this being’s raw, physical strength, at least. He rested his hands on the fronts of his thighs, eyes falling closed.

When he was dragged to the edge of the bed, Ryan went without a fight. He was shoved down hard against the mattress, and his master braced on his hands, wedging his wrists in the crooks of the mortal’s elbows to keep him in place. Nyarlathotep growled when those soft, pale arms moved, but the sound fell quiet when he watched his servant instead gently wrapped his arms round his master’s, simply holding onto him.

“Presumptuous little brat…” The Crawling Chaos sneered before focusing on chasing his own pleasures.

Ryan lost track of time and how many positions they went through. By the end of it, he dimly and dazedly recognized the light of the rising sun coming through the windows. There came a sound. A growl. Distant thunder. A rumbling sound like from distant hills, but with a high, keening edge that rattled the windows. It was followed by the Crawling Chaos shoving as deep as he could get, in this form. Ryan felt a dull, warm ache of teeth piercing the back of his neck, and liquid warmth painting his inner walls.

The servant gasped and whined at the feeling. He had paid attention in biology-class, and knew that there was an unnatural amount. Three shots worth, at least. Not panting nor seeming the least bit tired, Nyarlathotep pulled out and rested his cock between the human’s pert cheeks, the last of his release - a fourth shot - spilling and oozing along Ryan’s lower-back. One eye cracked, Ryan saw it was anything but natural. In truth, it looked like mercury, metallic and liquid, but cyan in color, slithering fluidly along his skin.

Nyarlathotep then pulled his mouth away, licking crimson from his lips, eyes distant like a shark mid-frenzy. A soft, broken sound from his servant drew his gaze back into focus in an instant. Ryan was watching him from the corner of his eye, a single question in the mortal’s mind.

“Mm.” He chuckled, leaning down to nuzzle behind the human’s ear. “That WAS me being gentle, pet. Now… Thank me.”

“Th…” Ryan swallowed hard, throat feeling dry and rough. “Thank you.”

“Good. We need to work on your manners. I shouldn’t have to tell you.” He stood and disappeared to the bathroom.

He closed his eyes. His nerves were raw, his whole body feeling oversensitive. When he felt a warm, wet cloth drag along his inner thigh, he jumped, but soon settled again and murmured a second thanks. Aftercare was… unexpected, but not unwanted. He really was grateful, and some part of him knew Nyarlathotep could tell.

“I expect you to get some rest. I may have use for you, sooner or later.” He said once finished cleaning up, and stood so he could dress. “Now, I have a meeting. I’ll return by either this evening, or tomorrow afternoon. Whichever.”

\---------


	4. Unexpected Visit

Mid-morning, and Nyarlathotep still wasn’t back.

Ryan wasn’t worried, honestly. He was more tired than anything else, and after cleanup in the shower, well… he was more than content to lay down for a while, now that he wasn’t completely boneless. When he got up to get some coffee, he had sat on the couch and fell asleep while watching Star Trek, and didn’t wake up again until he heard knocking echoing through the mansion. Metallic knocking, from someone using the actual knocker.

Were it not for the tremor through his blessing, he may have ignored it. But something told him he needed to open the door. And soon. Ryan forced himself up with a groan, hugging himself and feeling along his once again flat stomach. He practically still felt… With a shake of his head, he made it to the front doors and, when he opened them, was stunned and immediately bowed his head.

“You look worse for wear.” Yog-Sothoth mused, looking him over.

“How can I help you, my lord?” There was a tinge of nervousness to his voice. A tremor of unease.

“For one, you can find a place to sit down. Randolph can make some tea. And we can… chat.”

“O-Oh. Okay…”

He stepped aside to allow the being and his servitor through, closed the door behind them, and shuffled to the kitchen, still tired and achy as he followed them. The smell of cigars and rotting pumpkin assaulted his senses, Ryan’s stomach churning… and making an unknown dread creep over him.

“Lord Nyarlathotep isn’t here, but he’ll be back later, Lord Sothoth.”

“I’m here to see you, actually.” Yog-Sothoth seated himself at the parlor table, the fine ebony-wood chair creaking beneath him.

“Me…?” Ryan swallowed hard, feeling nervous at being around one of them whom wasn’t his ‘master.’

“Yes. Have a seat.”

His body moved as if on autopilot, and he sat down across from the Gatekeeper. Carter was already in the kitchen nearby, and Ryan could hear the clatter of a tea-set.

“Now…” Yog-Sothoth stroked his goatee a momet. “I’m curious. Where are you from?”

“I’m… I’m from Kingsport, lord.” Ryan answered, fidgeting with his hands on the table.

“I see. Any family, there?”

“Uh… Well, my parents died in a car wreck. But my grandpa lives there. He raised me.”

The Gatekeeper licked his teeth behind his lips before continuing. “Tell me about him.”

“About my grandpa…? Um… Okay, well… He lives in an old two-story Victorian. He used to be a sailor. A sea-captain. His mind’s gone a bit, though, with age. Likes to collect bottles and suspends pendulums inside them, and names them after his old crewmates.”

At this, Yod-Sothoth arched a brow.

“I try to visit him and call him to make sure he’s okay, but it always makes him upset. He says he can take care of himself.” Ryan gave a nervous chuckle.

“Wealthy?”

“Well, he collects old pirate coins and pays with his groceries with his savings, but… I mean, no more wealthy than any other elderly person, I guess…”

There came another pause. A longer one, and more tense on Ryan’s end.

“Some guys from out of town did try to rob him, once. He told me to hide in a wardrobe so he could take care of it.”

“I’m surprised he’s still alive.”

Ryan gazed to the side, pursing his lips.

“Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

His eyes snapped back to Yog-Sothoth and tensed, a lump in his throat. The words came out before he could stop them. “I heard screams. He keeps a sword in his cane. Three bodies were found the next morning.”

Carter came out, setting the tray of tea down before them. He said nothing of their conversation, and stepped aside, taking an empty chair at the circular, black-lacquered table. Not believing what he had just said, Ryan clasped a hand loosely over his own mouth. Yog-Sothoth let out an amused chuckle, taking up a cup of the dark, steaming liquid and holding it by the rim rather than the handle.

“Do I strike you as a being whom would call the police, boy?”

Ryan shook his head and lowered his hand. “Granpa always told me not to talk about it. I’m sorry.”

“What was the name of his ship? Do you know?”

“Yeah. He said his ship was called ‘the Alert.’ Used to tell me stories about it and his first mate, Johansen, and their travels. Why…?”

“You’ll find a lot of questions my kind ask are purely for curiosity’s sake.”

Wanting something to settle his nerves, Ryan fixed himself a cup of tea and held it to warm his fingers. Just as he opened his mouth to continue speaking, he heard the doors slam open, and a seething Nyarlathotep stood there. The young man was glad his ire wasn’t focused on him, but on the other eldritch at the table. Ryan set his cup of tea down and sank into his chair, feeling his symbiote squirm. While not painful, it was uncomfortable, like he had eaten something bad for him and he was paying for it.

“Of course you wait until I have business to show up!” He sneered, shoving the doors to slam closed and striding over to stand behind Ryan’s chair.

“Calm yourself, boy. I was simply having a conversation.” Yog-Sothoth wasn’t the least bit fazed with the bared fangs or extended claws, and sipped at his tea. “Not all of us get his information straight away. You are his master, after all. Though I’m wondering why you withheld that information.”

“And here I thought Azathoth and her chattel went whining to you.”

“Oh, she did. But even her and her vassal’s knowledge has its limits. Partly from her temper.” He took another sip.

Nyarlathotep rested a hand on the back of Ryan’s neck and hissed out a string of words in an incomprehensible tongue.

Yog-Sothoth cast him a glared. “I suggest you watch your tongue, brat.”

“And I suggest you mind your own business, old man.” His hand tightened, until Ryan let out a small, pained whimper, after which he removed his hand and rested it on the chair. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you, now? Hmph… I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.” He set his tea down and stood, straightening his jacket. “Good day.”

They watched the other eldritch and servant leave. As soon as the doors were closed behind them, the Crawling Chaos flipped the table with a bestial snarl, tea spilling and porcelain shattering. Ryan death-gripped the seat of his chair, watching the display with wide eyes. However, when Nyarlathotep’s gaze turned to him, he saw some of the fire leave his eyes. The Crawling Chaos came over to him and inspected him, cold and clever hands searching his form before cupping his face.

“Did he harm you?”

“N-No, sir!” Ryan shivered, close to hyperventilating. “H-He just asked me a bunch of weird questions!”

“Tell me everything you told him.” His tone wasn’t angry, per-se. More rushed. Frenzied. Perhaps worried, in his own fashion.

The servant explained what he had said. Recounted everything precisely, spilling the answers all over again. By the end of it, the servant was shaking and crying, apologizing profusely and going on about how he didn’t know what else to do. While surprised with this reaction, Nyarlathotep sighed and pulled the human up against him. The servant was carried into the main living room, to the sofa, and it took several minutes for the slighter to calm down. The Crawling Chaos muttered in his ear, ancient words he had no inkling to the meaning of, but the tone was soft, and soothing. Like distant thunder.

“I’m sorry…” Ryan hiccupped one final time, wiping his eyes on the sleeves of his thermal nightshirt.

“There was nothing you could do. That you admitted all this is a good thing.” Nyarlathotep nuzzled the space behind his servant’s ear, smelling ginger-grapefruit shampoo. “Better, now?”

He nodded. “W-Why do they hate me?”

“Because they’re cowards.” The Crawling Chaos answered simply. “Never you mind.”

“You’re lying.”

There came a pause, followed by a chuckle, and sharp teeth nipping at his earlobe. “Yes. But it’s an answer you should accept. For your own safety. Understand?”

Ryan nodded. The Crawling Chaos froze as his servant turned and snuggled up against him, burying his face in his neck. The scent of earth and rain was soothing on his nerves, especially given his recent encounter – even though he had no idea why it had scared him so.

After a moment, Nyarlathotep rolled his eyes and picked up the TV remote. He knew physical contact was simply part of having a pet.

\---------


	5. A Death in the Family

“Who the hell are you trying to call?” Nyarlathotep drawled where he sat at the island counter, reading the newspaper.

“My grandpa.” Ryan glanced at him where he leaned against the counter. “He usually answers right away… This is the fifth time I’ve tried.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He pursed his lips, tapping his phone against his palm before peering up at his master. “My lord?”

“Hm?”

“May I… Go check on him? Kingsport’s not that long of a drive. I could be back by—”

“If I can go with you.”

“Oh. Sure! I didn’t think you’d want to go.”

Nyarlathotep only hummed in the back of his throat.

The vassal headed toward the living room, only to pause at the doorway. “Do you think one of the others…? I mean, Lord Sothoth asked a lot of questions.”

“He always asks a lot of questions. I doubt he would have an interest in killing a withered old sea-captain.”

Ryan hesitated. Something in the back of his mind told him that it wasn’t the truth. Or, not the full truth, anyhow. He was missing something.

“Did I stutter?” Glimmering amber eyes flicked toward him. “Stop dawdling and go get dressed.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

“And stop apologizing for everything. It’s obnoxious.”

“Got it.” Ryan padded out of the room, heading to his bedroom.

\---------

Kingsport. It was such a dinky little place. Antiquated architecture, aged cobble streets, old plumbing… The place reeked of its patron idol. Of fetid marsh mixed with sea water, tinged with the iodine odor of ink. Ryan spoke little, continuing his attempts to call. He didn’t call the police, of course. His grandfather hated police with a burning passion – for reasons he never specified, but Ryan respected this regardless.

He quietly directed his master to the old Victorian farmhouse off by the docks, its yard fenced in with a rusting fence of wrought iron that was nearly lost in swaths of ivy. The house was entirely dark, which was unusual in itself. As they left the car, Ryan led the way up the broken stepping stones to the front steps.

“He’s usually out here to greet me when he sees me drive up…” Ryan muttered as he ascended the steps and clacked the tarnished brass knocker. “Grandpa? It’s Ryan!”

No answer came.

“I know I brought company, but can you please come open the door?”

Again, nothing.

Cursing under his breath, he reached for his keys, pulling them from his pocket. Before he could do anything with them, however, a hand grabbed his wrist.

“Move behind me and stay there.” Nyarlathotep growled.

“Lath, even though I doubt a sword-cane would do much to you, I think I should probably go first.”

He gave no reply. At his silence as the door was unlocked, Ryan obeyed despite his protest, and waited. The door was pushed open, creaking loudly on its hinges. They were greeted by the stench of seaweed and… blood. That coppery smell was blood.

“Does his house always look like this?” He stepped aside, allowing his vassal to see.

The house had been ransacked. Papers were scattered everywhere. Bookcases knocked over, a couple bottles shattered on the floor… The chaise in the living room bore claw-marks with hunks of stuffing sticking out of it. Deep scratches gouged hardwood floor, and the railing of the stairs had been broken.

“Oh my god…” Ryan’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I’m taking that as a no.” Nyarlathotep stepped inside, his tall stature meaning he had to duck a bit beneath the doorframe.

Ignoring him, he strode through the parlor, seeing a few red smears in the doorway to the study. There, he found a maimed and mangled corpse garbed in a familiar tailcoat and tricorn. Blood was pooling beneath the corpse. Many of the pendulum-bottles had been smashed. The entire scene, bathed in sunlight from the window, thanks to the curtain rod hanging askew. A tremor ran across Ryan’s shoulders, the man backing up a step until he felt his back hit his master’s front. Ryan whirled to face him, face pale.

“W-Why…?”

“Again, what interest would I have in killing an old man?”

“I know it wasn’t you, dammit! I’m asking why he’s…! I know it has something to do with me! And why the other three wanted to off me when we first met!”

Nyarlathotep arched a brow at him, expression dry and blank.

When Ryan registered what kind of tone he had just taken, he hunched his shoulders and gazed at the floor, expecting pain. What he got was long, slender fingers cupping his chin and tilting his gaze upwards.

“You remind me of the others. Showing care for their kin.” His tone was cool, but lacked the normal biting edge, sounding intrigued. “You fascinate me. … But that information isn’t yours to know. If you have any business here, I suggest you do it now.”

Ryan gazed down to the dead body. With shaking hands, he stepped closer and removed his grandfather’s pendant – a gold coin of ancient date on a golden chain. Nyarlathotep followed him to another room, watching the mortal count his steps and come to a spot on the floor that creaked beneath an old rug. Kneeling, he pushed the rug aside and revealed a small false board. There was an old tin miner’s lunchbox inside, which he picked up before turning to his master.

“Okay. Let’s… Let’s get out of here.” Ryan huffed.

\---------

There was a funeral. The last of the old man’s gold was used to bury him. The town was there out of respect to the old sea-captain, but there were no “relatives” besides Ryan. Nyarlathotep watched from the distance, expression blank even as he heard and sensed a familiar figure approaching.

“How is he?” Yog-Sothoth questioned.

“How should I know?” Nyarlathotep retorted. “He’s YOUR grandson, after all.”

He hummed at this. “I questioned Azathoth about this. She claims that she had no part in it. And Shub-Niggurath was with me.”

“I figured.”

“You recognize the implications, yes?”

“Only a braindead idiot like Azathoth would miss it.” He growled, hands in his pockets. “The Dreamer must have felt it when I took him as my chattel.”

“Meaning you’ve instigated a second war.”

“Please… The tethers have held for hundreds of thousands, if not millions of years. He’s trapped. And he’ll remain trapped, along with all the other traitors.” His frame tensed as he spoke, voice devolving steadily into a growl.

“It’s been seven-hundred-fifty-million years. You need to let it go.”

“I will NEVER let her betrayal go.” He snarled under his breath.

“Is that why you took him, lad?”

Several minutes passed before he managed a deep breath and calmed himself. “I’m older than you and you still insist on calling me such things.”

“Yes. Because you continue to act like the spoiled child you are. But at this point, I find it endearing.” Yog-Sothoth shrugged, hands resting on his walking-cane. “Age aside, you ARE like a son, to me.”

Nyarlathotep made a disgusted noise in his throat, but gave no argument besides.

“I ask you take care of the boy. I’ve no doubt his father has some scheme in mind. It seems all my blood-related young are destined to be turncoats.”

“And if my hand is forced? Second war, and all that.”

“Then do as you will. We cannot afford another such struggle. Not with so few of us left, now. Until then… Well, I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

\---------

It stuck with him. Such was one of the reasons Nyarlathotep preferred avoiding the Gatekeeper when he could. The damn fool, born of the equally cryptic Nameless Mist, always felt the need to stir up old, unwanted thoughts. He was unable to pay much attention to the book in his hands, his gaze focused on his chattel, whom was seated at the other end of the sofa, XBox controller in hand as he played… some nonsensical bullshit or another.

He could see it. The similarities to HER human form. High cheekbones, youthful features, dark eyelashes, hazel eyes that shifted color with the light, pale skin with dusky freckles… It was what tipped him off. That faint, knowing glow in his eyes. The same glow.

Only when Ryan dropped his controller and hunched over, holding his stomach, did Nyarlathotep realize he was thinking a little too hard on the matter. He sighed and set his book aside, but before he could comment, Ryan got up and ran to the restroom. This was punctuated by the sound of retching, and a wave of fear and confusion from the sensations he felt through his blessing.

When Ryan returned, he was holding his stomach and peered at the Crawling Chaos.

“Apologies.” Nyarlathotep said almost sarcastically.

“I take it you’ve got something on your mind…?” He sighed, pouting.

“I have a lot of things on my mind.”

“Care to share?”

“No. I don’t.” He picked up his book and opened it back up. “It’s none of your business anyways.”

With a sigh, he got a drink and sat back down, continuing his game.

\---------


	6. Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: I imagine the mansion being very similar to the house from Visage. Awesome game. <3 (I'm not sponsored. Just a fan.)

Ryan was in the middle of breakfast when he saw his master return from… wherever he had been. Nyarlathotep had the Necronomicon tucked under his arm, and in silence from his spot at the kitchen, Ryan watched the taller man disappeared to another room. There was a bang, a thud, and a dull scraping sound before the Crawling Chaos emerged and straightened his jacket.

“Do I even want to know?” The vassal questioned with unease.

“Probably not.” Nyarlathotep answered plainly, and sneered at him. “What ARE you eating?”

“Um… Eggo French toast sticks? I made tea, too, if you want some.”

“Looks like you’re useful after all. What kind?”

“Earl Grey and Blue Lady. I like to mix them. Word of warning, it’s not good with cream.”

“As if I would use cream anyway. Mammals… Ugh.” He strode to the kettle, pouring himself a cup and not bother to add sugar. “I feel you’ve recovered enough for me to begin sending you out proper.”

“Okay. What do you need?”

Nyarlathothep sat down at the table, producing an envelope from his jacket. It was fat, as if overstuffed, sealed with wax, and bore no stamp nor return address. Only the destination, written on the flap above seal.

“Deliver this,” The Crawling Chaos answered, “to a man named Richard Pickman. He will give you a package in return. Do NOT look at the package. Understand?”

“Yeah. I can do that.” Ryan nodded. “Anything else?”

“No. That’s all, for today, unless something else comes up.” The Crawling Chaos took a swig of his tea, and his brows arched as he peered down at the cup. “Well. It seems you have additional uses.”

“Alright, well,” he stood and shoved the last bite of French toast in his mouth and jogged to the entryway to grab his satchel, “see you later then!”

\---------

While it felt good to be out of the house after two weeks, some part of Ryan felt anxious, or uneasy. It felt strange, being away from Nyarlathotep after spending that amount of time together. Part of him wondered if it had something to do with imprinting, or with… the mental link between them through the symbiote – by now, he preferred that term to the alternative.

There was a sense of direction as he moved through the city streets, the passage eased since Nyarlathotep had brought his bike to the manor. The yellow mountain bike made traversing the old interwoven streets of pavement and cobble that much easier.

He knew where to make the turns, what byways to take… Not with the accuracy of a GPS, mind you, but accurate enough that he soon found himself at the indicated address. It was a small basement studio, stairs leading down to the door. A small, hidden, out-of-the-way place that someone could only find if they were specifically looking for it. Once he chained his bike to the railing of the stairs, he made his way down, and was greeted by a door wreathed in flaking red paint. Paint that Ryan had the suspicion may have been lead.

Wordlessly, he used the tarnished old iron knocker, and waited. There came a crash, a clatter, and a few curses as someone came shuffling up to the door. Said door was whipped open by a middle-aged man, brunette with a receding hairline that was, strangely, combined with a sharp and pronounced widow’s peak. His nose was beak-shaped, and ears stuck out far to either side of his head. Thin, with sunken eyes and bony fingers, his button-up shirt hanging off his body like a bedsheet and smeared with paint, sleeves barely staying rolled up. Upon seeing the younger man standing before him, he pushed a few wisps of thin bangs from his face and readjusted his glasses.

“What do you want?” He questioned, voice crackling as if disused before he cleared his throat.

“I’ve been sent to collect.” Ryan pulled the envelope from inside his jacket and handed it to him.

“Oh. I didn’t realize… Is it Thursday already?”

He nodded.

The older man grumbled before nodding and taking the envelope. “You can come in, but don’t touch anything.”

“I wouldn’t. I mean, they’re your paintings.”

At this, his expression lightened, his glazed-looking green eyes flicking over his form. “Do you like art?”

“Art’s subjective.”

Then, he smiled. “Would you like to see some of my works?”

“Uh… My, um… My boss said not to look at the one I’m picking up.”

“No, no, of course not. But I meant my private collection.”

“Oh. Well, sure. If it’s okay with you.” Ryan stepped inside, wiping his feet and closing the door behind himself.

The space was chaotic, but he expected and respected this. Artists had their methods, after all. He was led through a series of rooms with numerous canvases and sculptures. The canvass displayed numerous scenes that modern-day hipsters would classify as “overly-graphic,” or some such nonsense. Of screaming, bared flesh and bone, blood, ghosts, ghouls… A slight smirk came over his face when he saw them.

“Well?” The artist questioned. “What do you think?”

“I think you should go into business as a video-game designer. This would make a real awesome game.” Ryan glanced at him as he admired one picture in particular. “They look like they all fit together in a story.”

“They do. In a way.”

“Either way, I like it. Unique. Original. Good use of colors and concept. A little heavy on the reds, but besides that…”

He peered up at his work. “I thought so, too… Heavy on the red. Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

They continued further into the building. One painting they passed made him pause just before the corridor. There was a great mass of black and indigo, tentacles, attacking what looked like a wendigo, or a deer-minotaur. Killing more than attacking… tearing its throat out as the wispy essence of a soul escaped its mouth. Something about it felt familiar in a way he could not place. Giving him a sense of déjà vu.

Shaking it off, they came to the statues. It was here that something truly unsettled him. There was a statue of green soapstone squatted on one of the dining tables repurposed to hold such things. A statue kept away from the others, surrounded by a series of bottles with metal pendulums suspended with strings. The statue looked like an imp or demon, with the wings and tail of a dragon, and the head of an octopus, including full beard of tentacles. Long claws gripped at its perch.

In the back of his mind, Ryan felt something. Heard something. Whispers in a strange tongue that he could almost—[Turn away from it. Now.]

Ryan froze with a yelp, his gaze snapping to the floor when he heard Nyarlathotep somehow reprimand him in his thoughts. Numerous questions ran through his mind as he power-walked away from the statue. He needed space, doors, walls, between himself and that… that thing, whatever it was.

“So, it’s not gore and spirits that disturbs you.” The artist smirked and peered over his shoulder. “It’s fear of the unknown.”

“Something like that.” Ryan muttered, rubbing his arm. “I never got your name, by the way. I’m Ryan. Ryan MacReady.”

“Richard Pickman.” They reached a sizable living space, wall-to-wall with bookshelves, the futon being both sofa and bed.

There was a small kitchen with an island counter, on which rested scattered cans of paint, mixed paint, brushes, and dirty water. The artist went to the counter against the wall, and picked something up before he handed the younger man what felt like a cylinder, which was wrapped neatly in leather and with twine.

“And here is your package. I’m sure your master will find everything in perfect order.”

“Thanks…” Ryan glanced at the package as he took it. “Are you…?”

“Me? Serve… Them? No…” Pickman gave a wry chuckle as he shook his head. “No amount of treasure or knowledge is with THAT kind of existence.”

His brows furrowed, eyes scrutinizing him.

“No offense, of course.”

“Of course. Well… Goodbye, then.”

“Goodbye.”

Ryan took a couple steps backwards before turning away and taking his leave, speeding past the statue that had caused him so much sudden distress. 

\---------

When Ryan reached the manor, he locked his bike against the porch and made his way up the stairs, knocking twice to announce himself before going in. He still wasn’t used to this place. Its size, its designs… Striding past the foyer, he came to the living room, where Nyarlathotep lounged on the sofa, feet on an ottoman, busy reading a book as the phonograph played and the television sat powered off.

“I got the thing.” Ryan strode closer and held the package out to him.

Without ceremony, Nyarlathotep snapped the book closed and tossed it onto the end-table beside him before, with surprising care, coaxed the package from his grasp. Uncrossing his long legs, he stood and strode to another room. Ryan waited, recalling that he was not allowed to gaze at the package. Soon, the Crawling Chaos returned.

“Will you get pissed off if I ask questions?” Ryan removed his jacket, placing it and his satchel on the coat rack by the door.

“No.” Nyarlathotep informed him, one hand behind his back and the other on the back of the sofa. “If you didn’t ask questions, I would assume you possessed a smaller intelligence than I first assumed.”

“Okay… What the hell happened while I was at Pickman’s? I mean, why did he have the bottles thing like my grandpa would do? And why did I have that same reaction with that as with Yog-Sothoth?”

The Crawling Chaos studied him a moment before deigning to answer. “There are many powers residing on this miserable rock. The ‘Great Old Ones,’” he said with contempt and disdain, “are gods to you, and we are gods to them.”

“And my reactions?”

“Instinctual. The Blessing shies away from power that isn’t mine. A safety precaution, if you will. You’ll get used to it.”

“I figured. But…” He rubbed his arm, glancing aside nervously.

“But what?”

“I heard something. The whispers from the statues.”

Nyarlathotep paused, his expression speaking of surprise and… Unease? Or some similar but less weak-sounding word. “Whispers. Did you hear what they said?”

“I-I…”

He strode closer, but seemed to take care not to loom or make him uneasy. “Best guess, then. What you think it meant.”

“Something along the lines of… ‘What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise.’”

“I see…” The Crawling Chaos mused before letting out a scoff between his teeth and giving a roll of his eyes. “Typical. Ridiculous.”

“Is it something I should worry about?”

“No.”

“Well… Alright then.” Ryan nodded, feeling somewhat reassured despite his sense that it, again, wasn’t the full truth. “Do you need anything else? I mean, it’s only noon.”

“No. You may have the rest of the day.” Nyarlathotep strode past him with a dismissive wave.

“Sir?”

He halted, peering over his shoulder.

“I still haven’t explored much of the house. Are there any rooms that you don’t want me in? Before I go take a look around?”

Surprise was clear on his features, and Ryan got the sense it wasn’t something he expected to be asked. “The study. It has black-lacquered doors with polished knobs and knockers. Its doors are locked. And I expect them to stay that way.”

“Understood.” Ryan nodded, and watched the Crawling Chaos disappear to another room.

\---------


	7. Pickman's Disappearance

“Yes, yes, what is—” Pickman whipped the door open. Color drained from his face. “L-Lord Nyarlathotep! What an unexpected surprise…”

“Well?” The taller being arched a brow, mismatched eyes cold and keen. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“O-Of course! Of course.” The artist stepped aside and waved a hand at the inside of his studio.

Once the Crawling Chaos had stepped inside, Pickman closed the door behind him.

“How can I help you? Surely the artifact was—”

“I’m not here about that.”

“You’re not?” Pickman blinked, staring at him with wide eyes.

“No. I’m more interested in your latest works.” Nyarlathotep glanced at him. “My chattel told me about your works and it sounded like you had some new pieces. A sculpture, in particular.”

The artist felt like ice was creeping down his spine. None of the Outer Gods had ever cared about his works, despite their occasional commissions. The sudden interest boded ill, but he knew it would be far worse for him if he ran. Instead, he murmured a “Right this way,” and led the pharaoh down the corridor that led through opposite of the canvases. The statue, he could salvage and maybe walk away only maimed. Some of his art pieces, however… Less so.

Among the statues, Nyarlathotep easily recognized the statue of the chief betrayer, whom had been sealed away so long ago, surrounded by bottles like those at the old “sea-captain’s” house. With a single hand, he hefted the statue as if it weighed nothing, and threw it against the concrete wall. It shattered, a plume of greenish mist emerging from the broken idol. Pickman threw his hands up to his head, watching as every single sculpture in the room was summarily destroyed as penance, some thrown hard enough to crack the cinderblock walls.

Without warning, Nyarlathotep then wheeled on him and seized him by the throat, shoving him against the wall. “You walk a very thin line in my graces, Pickman. How brazen of you, having his idol in your home.”

“I mean n-nothing by it, my lord…” Pickman rasped, weakly grabbing at the hand.

“I should pluck out your eyes for this. See if you can paint blindly.” Instead, he dropped the weedy little man and strode away.

By the time Pickman had managed to get to his feet, he saw the Crawling Chaos now stood in the corridor that led to the main canvas gallery… right in front of the painting he had hoped this being would never see. The room went deathly cold, awash in the scent of wet sand, rain, and ozone. He saw Nyarlathotep’s shoulders tense.

“Pickman. What… is this?” The Crawling Chaos’ voice skirted on a growl.

He knew the pharaoh expected a damn good explanation. It took everything Pickman had simply to shuffle closer without cowering or groveling… or both. His heart pounded in his chest, palms sweating profusely.

“O-One of my newer paintings, lord.” Pickman told him. “Just a… a flight of fancy? A slip of the mind, as it were?”

Slender fingers plucked the label tacked to the wall beneath it, and read it aloud. “The Murder of Persephone.”

The artist felt the room tremble.

“You think the death of my wife, my mate, was murder, Pickman?” Nyarlathotep’s voice was quiet. “You think the death of an adulterer, a traitor whom caused our near extinction… was MURDER?”

Pickman took a step back, eyes wide. The Crawling Chaos dragged his nails, now claws, down the canvas, leaving behind long furrows in the material. Then, he turned, gazing down at the man with an unnatural coldness, slow steps carrying him forward and backing Pickman into a corner.

“I do believe you’ve reached the end of your usefulness… and my patience.”

\---------

Something in Ryan told him something was wrong. He felt queasy and jittery. On-edge. When Nyarlathotep returned from wherever he had been, he saw why.

The Crawling Chaos’ normally pristine and sharp attire was wrinkled… and covered in blood. Splatter, smears, smudges. There was even some on his face and in his hair. Ryan stood from his place on the couch, brows furrowed. For a long moment, he wasn’t certain what to say, until he finally found the right question.

“What do you need me to do?”

Nyarlathotep sneered and left the room. When he returned, he was in clean attire, and threw his bloodied clothes in the fireplace. A snap of his fingers had the clothes burst into flame and burning. Ryan stood there, watching, waiting. When the Crawling Chaos moved closer to him, he held his ground, standing beside the back of the couch. Nyarlathotep’s gaze was… cold. Colder than Ryan had ever seen personally, but it steadily shifted towards… something else. The scent Ryan’s mind associated with the pharaoh hung heavy on the air like a cloud of aftershave, but pleasant.

The servant gave no struggle as he was pushed against the back of the sofa, a clawed hand resting on his lower stomach as the taller being pushed up against his side. He felt his master nuzzle behind his ear, lukewarm breath brushing over it and the side of his neck. Nyarlathotep was met with the ethereal, faded scent of wilted flowers after a hard autumn frost. Not HER scent. If anything, its polar opposite.

“Are you alright?” Ryan questioned, giving his patron a worried look.

“I’m a god. Why would you ask me such a thing?” He muttered with a petty sense of spite.

“Just because you’re a god doesn’t mean you don’t feel things. Emotions are just part of being sentient.”

At this, he gave a noncommittal sound, and sighed. “Then no, I’m not ‘alright.’ Not that it makes a difference.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No.” The Crawling Chaos pulled away and seated himself on the sofa.

Without a word, Ryan sat on the opposite side and turned on the TV. He tucked his legs up and pulled a throw-blanket over himself as his master got lost in his own mind. By the time Nyarlathotep decided to get up and do something productive, he saw his servant had turned to face the back of the sofa, and had fallen asleep despite the discomfort in his stomach the Blessing caused at Nyarlathotep’s mood. He could see the bite-mark on the back of Ryan’s neck had healed perfectly, and shifted into what looked like a raised tattoo of his emblem.

The pharaoh stood and nuzzled behind the slighter’s ear with a possessive growl before heading to the study. Ryan slept a bit sounder as the discomfort ebbed, and then ceased.

\---------


End file.
